


For You, I'd Bleed Myself Dry

by lovetheblazer



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheblazer/pseuds/lovetheblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren and Chris are both students at NYU whose professors decide to offer extra credit for donating blood during the campus blood drive. Darren's terrified and needle phobic, but he desperately needs the extra credit points to pass a class, so he asks a total stranger named Chris if he'll hold his hand. CrissColfer alternative meeting AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For You, I'd Bleed Myself Dry

Chris is just making himself comfortable in a reclining chair in the mobile blood donation van when an absolutely gorgeous guy with unruly brown curls and warm hazel eyes walks in, clutching a clipboard.

He looks at Chris and smiles tentatively. Chris watches his gaze jump from his face to the needle laying on a small tray, while the lab technician tightens a rubber tourniquet around his upper arm with one hand and prods for a vein with the other. The guy shudders visibly and blanches, looking away.

“Uh, the man who did the health screening told me to bring this form in here to you?” he says in wobbly voice, gesturing towards the questionnaire he holds in his hand.

“Okay, just have a seat in the next chair,” the woman tells him, pointing to the recliner nearest to Chris. “I'll be with you in a moment once I get him started.”

He flops down in the chair, staring at Chris again, though Chris can't help but notice that he very carefully keeps his gaze on his face and well away from the needle.

“Alright, big stick, sweetie,” the phlebotomist warns Chris. He simply nods, not nervous in the least, since he's an old pro at donating blood at this point. Chris could have kissed his Art History teacher when she'd announced in class that students who donated blood would earn an automatic 100 without having to turn in one of the four papers assigned over the course of the semester. Chris doesn't mind writing per se (in fact, he often enjoys it), but he  _does_  mind having to bullshit pages of analysis on a topic he really doesn't care much about. Needless to say, getting a free A on an assignment for something he's already been doing for years voluntarily is pretty much the best part of his Friday, if not his whole week.

Chris barely flinches as the needle goes in, grateful that the woman doing it is clearly a practiced professional. Last time he'd given blood, he'd had the distinct misfortune of getting a trainee still under supervision. It had taken three tries for her to find a vein and the crook of Chris' arm had been bruised for a solid week afterwards.

The guy next to him audibly sucks in a sharp breath. Chris looks over at him, frowning a little. He's covering his mouth with one hand and his eyes are almost cartoonishly wide. “Sorry,” he murmurs, biting his lip.

“It's... okay?” Chris manages. He waits a few beats, wondering if the guy will explain the sudden outburst, but he's too busy biting his nails to say anything. Chris shrugs and looks back at his arm, watching with sick fascination as the blood rushes from the needle down the length of the tubing.

The technician lightly tapes the needle and tube in place and takes the small blood collection bag and hangs it on a hook from the side of the chair.

“All set,” the technician tells Chris, nodding with satisfaction at her own work. “You can relax your fist now, but you might want to squeeze it every so often to keep things flowing. It'll probably take about ten minutes and then I'll unhook you, okay?”

“Sure, thanks,” Chris acknowledges, settling back in the chair, his head on the headrest. He's relaxed enough that he's half tempted to take a quick power nap. He was up way too late last night studying for his English literature midterm and he could have cried when his alarm went off at seven this morning. Chris is pretty sure that 8 AM classes will be the death of him. He's very much looking forward to being a sophomore, mainly for the perk of a slightly better registration time. He doesn't care  _what_  he takes, honestly, as long as none of the classes start before 9:30.

“I can take the paperwork from you now, hon,” the lab technician tells the guy, reaching out a hand to accept the clipboard. She glances down at the papers on it. “You're Darren?” she asks, reading the name scrawled at the top of the form in a messy script.

“Yeah, that's me,” he replies, fidgeting a little.

She must sense his nervousness, because she gives him a comforting smile. “Hi, I'm Rhonda. I need to enter your information into the computer really quickly and then we'll get started. Just make yourself comfortable and take some deep breaths, okay?”

“Okay,” Darren gulps and lets his head thump back against the headrest. He scrubs a shaking hand over his face, but he must feel the eyes upon him, because his eyes flicker back to Chris.

Chris quickly averts his gaze, embarrassed for staring. He hears Darren sigh heavily. “Does it hurt a lot?” he asks in a tremulous voice.

“Hmm?” Chris murmurs, looking over at Darren, not certain if he's talking to him or Rhonda.

Darren gestures towards the needle sticking out of his arm with a slight shiver. “Is it painful?”

“No, not really. No worse than getting blood drawn at the doctor's office or whatever. I can't even feel it right now,” Chris reassures him.

“It's  _that_  bad?” Darren worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Huh? No, it's not bad at all. That's what I was trying to say,” Chris clarifies, wondering if Darren misheard him.

“Well, I've never been a big fan of going to the doctor. Always hated getting blood drawn and shots too, obviously,” Darren babbles.

“Oh,” Chris shoots him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, I wasn't sure what you meant. I take it this is your first time giving blood?”

“Is it that obvious?” Darren chuckles ruefully. “Yeah, I'd pretty much rather be anywhere than here right now. Hell, I'd rather strip naked and run across the entire quad in the middle of the day than do this.”

“Um,” Chris snorts helplessly, trying to picture Darren doing just that. “That's an... interesting example.”

“Yeah, I do that. Ramble when I'm anxious, I mean. Not strip naked and run across campus,” he rushes to explain.

“Good to know,” Chris laughs. “So, why are you donating blood if you're so scared?”

“My professor offered fifteen extra credit points on the final for donating blood and without them, I'm pretty much guaranteed to fail the class. And given that I've got a full course load for next semester already, and I  _really_  want to graduate on time, I figured I just needed to suck it up,” Darren tells him.

“Fifteen points? Damn, lucky you. You've got a pretty generous prof,” Chris says.

“If you had him, you'd be singing a different tune. He's impossible, barely teaches, and you'd need a PhD in advanced mathematics to pass his final, I swear to god,” Darren grumbles.

“What's the class?” Chris inquires. “I'm assuming something math or science related?”

“Calculus, which is ridiculous given that I'm a Music Composition major. Like seriously, when am I ever going to use that knowledge in the future? There's a reason I never wanted to be a fucking accountant,” he groans.

“Yeah, it's lame, I agree. But that's the core curriculum requirements for you, I guess,” Chris shrugs as best he can with one free arm.

Darren's gaze finds his way back to the needle running into the crook of Chris' elbow. “I really don't know if I can do this,” he admits, his face white.

“I'm sure you'll be fine. I've donated blood loads of times. It really doesn't hurt much,” Chris promises.

“Easy for you to say, since you aren't a huge wimp like me,” Darren tries to joke, but Chris can see that underneath the bravado he's clearly terrified.

“You don't even know me. Maybe I'm a wimp too and I just hide it better,” Chris banters back.

Darren doesn't even crack a smile. “Can I ask you a question?” he requests instead in a quaking voice.

“Sure,” Chris replies, though he finds the sudden formality a little strange. Darren's already asked him  _many_  questions and didn't seem to need permission until now.

Darren looks down at his lap instead of at Chris. “Could you maybe hold my hand while I donate blood? Or at least when she's putting the needle in?”

Of all the things Chris could have imagined him asking, that definitely wasn't one of them. “Oh, uh...” he begins.

“ _God_ , sorry, you don't have to,” Darren interrupts, cheeks flaming. “I mean, it would be great, but I know I'm essentially a stranger and it was probably weird of me to even ask. I just...” he trails off.

“You just...?” Chris prods when he doesn't finish the thought.

“I guess I just felt better talking to you and thought you might be a good distraction? Sorry, I'm probably being weird,” Darren mumbles, dropping his head to his hands.

Chris is quiet for a minute, considering his options. The truth is that he's kind of flattered since he's  _definitely_  noticed how attractive Darren is. Chris really isn't the kind of person to go out of his way to talk to someone he doesn't know. He even draws the line at encouraging the appreciative glances that he sometimes sees guys shooting in his direction when he wanders around campus in skinny jeans. The truth is that being an introvert on a huge, sprawling campus like NYU has been pretty lonely at times. And it's been nice to have a real conversation with someone, to feel a connection that isn't forced by circumstance like his stilted friendship with his dorm mate or his lab partner in Chemistry. The only real hesitation he has is the potential for awkwardness, though that seems like a small concern in the grand scheme of things.

“You think it'll help you?” he quizzes Darren.

Darren finally meets his gaze and nods. “Yeah, I really do.”

“Okay,” Chris replies softly.

Darren smiles bashfully at him. “You are saving my life, I swear. Or at least my academic career.”

“How charitable of me,” Chris snickers.

Darren looks like he wants to say more, but he's stopped by Rhonda reappearing to check on Chris. “It would appear you're all done,” she announces and lifts up the now the full bag of blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Darren grimace and turn his head away from the sight.

“Great,” Chris answers, waiting patiently while she clamps off the tubing and pulls out a few cotton swabs and length of bandage in preparation for removing the needle.

“Ready?” Chris signals his assent. She slides the needle out of his arm and covers the spot with a cotton ball, bending his arm up to keep pressure on it while she grabs the blue bandage. She winds it around his elbow several times and tucks the edge of the bandage underneath to secure it.

“Okay, you're all set,” she declares. “Now you get to pick out something to eat and drink from my basket of goodies.” Rhonda gestures towards a large basket on a folding table filled with various cookies and baked goods. “Drinks are on the floor,” she continues, pointing to an open cooler filled with ice and various sodas and juices.

“Thanks.” Chris starts to sit up, reaching for his backpack.

“Slowly,” the technician warns. “I don't want you passing out on me. Just hang out here until you finish your snack, okay?”

Chris notices the relief written all over Darren's face at Rhonda's words.  _Surely, he didn't think I would just run off on him after promising I'd stay,_  he wonders to himself.

“That's the plan,” Chris proclaims agreeably. He gets to his feet, grateful that he doesn't even feel a tad lightheaded thanks to the big breakfast he ate before he came. Still, that doesn't stop him from selecting an iced sugar cookie and a Diet Coke from the free snacks offered up. It's one of the best perks of blood donation, after all, especially for broke college students like himself who are already tired of the dorm cafeteria food.

He walks over and sits down in the chair on the other side of Darren, opposite from where Rhonda is pulling out new supplies. He takes a bite of the sugar cookie, barely suppressing a moan at how good it is. Chris doesn't even care how many calories are in it, because it's the best dessert he's had in weeks.

Chris realizes that Darren is staring at him and goes to surreptitiously wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. There's nothing there. He looks down at his shirt next, dusting off a few crumbs, but Darren just keeps right on staring. “What?” he finally asks.

Darren shakes his head a little. “Nothing, I just... I don't know. I'd rather look at you than the needle I assume she's prepping right now?” he tries to justify. “Not going to lie, I'm already freaking out.”

“You don't say,” Chris teases. He waits for Darren to crack a smile or joke back, but he just gazes at Chris, biting his lip.

Chris sighs and sets his half eaten cookie and the can of Diet Coke on the armrest of the chair. “Do you want me to...?” he offers, gesturing towards Darren's hand. This was the awkwardness he was worried about.

“Yes please?” Darren practically begs, reaching for him. Chris has to turn in the chair a little to make the angle less uncomfortable, but then Darren is grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Thanks,” Darren murmurs, almost shyly.

“Sure,” Chris replies, trying for casual. He can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks, though he's not sure why  _he_  feels embarrassed in this situation. If anyone should have cause for embarrassment or humiliation, it's Darren. But Chris can't deny that something about the strange intimacy of the situation is getting to him too.

“Okay sweetie, it's time to get started,” Rhonda informs him.

Chris can feel Darren's whole body stiffen. “Fuck,” Darren swears under his breath, shooting Chris a panicked look.

“It'll be fine,” Chris tries to soothe helplessly. He has no idea what to say beyond platitudes.

“Nothing to panic about just yet,” Rhonda adds. She hands him a blue and green foam ball shaped like globe. “Make a fist around that, okay? Right now I'm just working on finding a good vein. I'll warn you when the time comes.”

Darren nods shakily and turns his head back towards Chris. “Can you just... talk to me, maybe?”

“What about?”

Darren winces as the technician ties the tourniquet around his upper arm. “Um, I...” he trails off, staring at Chris, briefly lost for words. “Yourself, I guess?”

“Me?” Chris frowns. “There's not much to tell.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Darren scoffs.

Chris watches Darren's chest rise and fall rapidly as he struggles to control his breathing. It's a sensation Chris can remember all too well from the panic attacks he had to cope with in middle school and high school. He squeezes Darren's hand a little, hoping it will bring him some small bit of comfort.

Darren squeezes back gratefully. “Seriously though, I want to know more about you. What's your major, for starters?”

“English with a specialization in creative writing,” Chris replies.

“Nice,” Darren smiles. “You write?”

“I do.”

“Fiction? Nonfiction? Poems?” Darren prompts, seeming a little calmer with each passing second.

“Fiction, mostly. I've been working on a children's book,” he confesses. It's the first time he's told anyone that, aside from his parents and his academic advisor. It feels weird saying it out loud, like he's somehow tempting the universe to smack him down for daring to have such grand ambitions for himself.

“That's really cool,” Darren declares and Chris senses that he truly means it. It's a heady feeling to tell someone his plans for the future and not have them laugh in his face or attempt to advise him against it. It just confirms what he's long suspected: that getting out of Clovis and moving to New York City was the best thing he could have possibly done for himself. It's that simple thought that he clings to on days when he feels like he's all alone in the world and he just wants to go home to his parents and sister.

“I've got a vein now,” Rhonda notifies them, interrupting Chris' introspection. “Are you ready?” she asks Darren.

“Not really,” Darren manages in a wobbly voice. “But I don't think waiting longer is going to help matters any so we should probably just get it over with, right?”

“Maybe don't look if you're not a big fan of needles,” Rhonda suggests. “Do you want me to warn you when I'm sticking it in?” Darren shakes his head no and turns back towards Chris.

Darren tugs on Chris' hand, pulling him closer. “Can you keep talking?” he requests. “I think it was helping.”

“Okay,” Chris utters softly, more to himself than Darren. “Uhh...” he trails off, not sure what to say next. He feels a little awkward being the one to do all the talking, so he decides to flip the script and ask Darren a question instead. “So, did you grow up around here?”

“Me? No, I'm a West Coast kid,” Darren remarks.

“Really? Me too,” Chris tells him eagerly. “Where are you from?”

Darren opens his mouth to reply but before he can, the phlebotomist sticks the needle in. “Shit,” he winces as his hand crushes around Chris' fingers.

“It's okay,” Chris murmurs. “That was the worst part, I swear.”

Darren shakes his head and shuts his eyes for a minute, taking several stuttering breaths. Chris glances at Rhonda, wondering if he should be concerned, but she seems calm enough. He watches her secure the needle and tubing with practiced fingers. When he glances back up at Darren, he's as white as a sheet.

“Okay, now all you have to do is hang out for a few minutes,” Rhonda informs Darren as she stands up. He nods absently but doesn't open his eyes.

Chris sits in silence for a second, trying to take his cues from Darren. He looks down at their intertwined hands, noticing that his fingers are starting to turn white from how tightly Darren is squeezing. “Any better?” he asks at last, wanting to break the tension.

“Not really,” Darren whispers. “Sorry, I know I'm being a huge baby.”

“You aren't,” Chris promises. “My little sister hates needles too and she's the bravest person I know, so...”

Darren finally cracks his eyes open. Chris can tell that he's tearing up but he pretends not to see, looking away to give Darren a moment to collect himself.

“Thanks,” Darren manages in a hoarse voice. Chris turns to look at him again and they share a smile.

“Of course.” There's another lull in the conversation, but the silence feels more comfortable this time so Chris doesn't really mind.

“I'm from San Francisco, to answer your earlier question,” Darren eventually adds.

“Oh, that's not too far from where I grew up. I'm from Clovis.”

“I don't think I've ever heard of Clovis,” Darren furrows his brow.

“It's okay, almost no one has and for good reason. It's a shithole, to be honest.”

“But hey, it's home?” Darren finishes for him.

“Aladdin reference? Nice,” Chris chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it wasn't the worst place ever to grow up, just way too small and socially conservative for my tastes.”

“Clearly, it must have been if you felt the need to run all the way to New York City. That's about as far away from home as you can get without leaving the country, right?” Darren notes.

“I guess so, although couldn't the same be said for you too, technically?” Chris points out.

“My brother already lived here, so it wasn't that weird for me,” Darren shrugs. The minute movement jostles his arm that's still hooked up to the tubing and he flinches. “Ow,” he moans.

Chris has to bite his lip to keep from laughing at Darren. “Um, did you actually forget what you were doing right now? I mean I know I'm a good conversationalist and all, but I didn't think I was  _that_  good a distraction.”

“Obviously you aren't giving yourself enough credit,” Darren exhales in a rush, his upper body now tense and rigid. “But I don't know, it's a habit. I wasn't really thinking,” he adds with a slight shudder.

“You're almost done now,” Chris assures him. “See, it's not so bad.”

“No, you're wrong; it sucks and I'm pretty sure I would have died by now if you weren't here,” Darren maintains.

“You wouldn't have died. I seriously doubt that.” Chris shakes his head fondly.

“Okay, maybe not  _died_ , but I probably would have passed out.”

Chris remembers how pale Darren went a few minutes ago. “Yeah maybe,” he concedes.

“Good thing you were here then,” Darren grins. Chris smiles back, feeling the familiar prickles of attraction. It's been a while since he met someone who showed him this much interest, but he's almost certain that Darren's flirting with him.

“Guess so,” Chris agrees. He feels Darren smooth his thumb across his knuckles, stroking softly, and the electric feeling only intensifies.

“Do you have any more classes today?” Darren quizzes, his voice a little too breathy to come off as casual.

“Hmm? Oh no, I'm done for the day,” Chris replies eagerly.

“Maybe we could go grab coffee or something after this? My treat, of course. I feel like I should probably do something to thank you properly for agreeing to hold a complete stranger's hand,” Darren suggests.

“I'd like that,” he practically beams.

“Good,” Darren nods, seeming relieved.

“Let's see how we're doing over here,” Rhonda calls out as she sets down the computer and makes her way back towards Darren. She looks down at the bag. “Excellent news – looks like you are ready to be unhooked.”

“Yay?” Darren says, though his face tells a different story entirely. He tightens his grip on Chris' hand and looks away from his arm. “Distract me again?” he requests pitifully.

“Sure,” Chris murmurs. “Where do you want to go after this? Were you thinking the Starbucks on campus or did you want to go somewhere off campus?”

“Uh, that's up to you. I'm flexible. But there's this great little place just off campus that I tend to frequent more than Starbucks. It's a lot less crowded and their coffee is better too,” Darren explains.

“Oh yeah, I think I know the one you're talking about. Sertinos Café, right?” Chris guesses.

“That's the one. Man, here I was thinking I was the only NYU student who'd discovered that place, but then you have to go break the spell by already knowing it,” Darren pretends to hang his head in shame. “Some hipster I am.”

“I mean...” Chris giggles. “Sorry to disabuse you of your pretensions, I guess?”

Darren sighs in mock horror. “It's a true tragedy, I know.” He winces as the phlebotomist begins peeling off the tape. He inhales sharply and gives Chris a pleading look.

“Almost finished now,” Chris reassures him. “Afterwards, you can have a free cookie. They are really good too. I'd highly recommend the sugar cookies.”

“Duly noted.” Chris glances over and sees Rhonda slide the needle out and feels Darren squeeze his hand again.

“You survived,” Chris congratulates him while she winds a matching bandage around Darren's arm.

“Hey, how come I get pink and he gets blue?” Darren pouts. “I feel like it's a subtle dig at the complete lack of masculinity I just demonstrated.”

Chris laughs long and hard at that. “Nope, just the color of bandage that happened to be in the drawer by your chair,” Rhonda explains. “I wouldn't judge anyone who donates blood. We need all the help we can get.”

“Even if I only did it for the extra credit?” Darren nudges.

“Even then,” she verifies. “Trust me, I'm not naïve. I know that's how we get most of you college students in here to begin with.”

“We can't all be good samaritans like Chris, I guess,” Darren agrees, turning to share a private smile with him.

“We could always use more people like him in the world,” Rhonda confirms. “But thankfully we get our fair share of repeat donaters at the Red Cross where I normally work. You're free now, but I'll tell you the same thing I told Chris: get up slowly and finish your snack before you leave.” She glances over at Chris and frowns at his half-eaten cookie and unopened soda. “And it looks like you need to finish eating too,” she points out.

“Sorry, I was a little busy,” Chris reveals, holding up his hand that Darren is still holding.

Her gaze softens and she smiles. “Fair enough, you had other... business to attend to, I see.”

“Something like that.”

Darren scoots forward in the chair, bending his head down as he attempts to locate his messenger bag. “Oh,” he sighs quietly. “That's...”

Chris is confused. He follows Darren's gaze to the full bag of blood that Rhonda is carrying to the small refrigerator where the donations are stored. Suddenly, all the color drains out of Darren's face and he starts to sway.

“Shit,” Chris swears under his breath. He jumps to his feet and presses Darren back against the chair just as his eyes roll back in his head.

Rhonda turns to see what all the fuss is about. She sees Chris hovering over Darren's limp body and rushes over to help.

“What happened?” she asks as she hits a lever to lean the chair Darren's sitting in back farther.

“I don't know. He was fine one minute and then I think he saw the bag of blood and passed out?” Chris gets out, panicking a little. It seems ridiculous, given that Darren was a total stranger thirty minutes ago, but he feels oddly responsible for his wellbeing now.

Rhonda nods, not seeming all that surprised. She walks around to the front of the recliner and pulls on another lever to raise Darren's legs. “I probably should have seen that coming, judging by how squeamish he was with the needle.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Chris worries aloud.

“Oh, he should be fine. We have people who get woozy and faint after donating blood pretty frequently. He'll come around soon.” Rhonda wraps a blood pressure cuff around Darren's arm to check his vitals. “Actually, if you want to help, you could grab an ice pack out of the freezer over there?” she requests, gesturing to the appliance behind her.

“Sure,” Chris complies, reluctantly releasing his grasp on Darren's hand. He walks across the room and opens the freezer door, grabbing a blue gel ice pack. “This one?” he confirms, holding it up.

“Yep, that'll do. Grab one of those small towels on the counter too,” she adds.

Chris hurries back over to her carrying both. He watches Rhonda press her fingers to the inside of Darren's wrist, whilst keeping her eyes are trained on the watch she's wearing. “Now what do I do?”

“Wrap the towel around the ice pack and put it on his forehead,” she directs.

Chris does as commanded, brushing Darren's curls back from his temple first. He settles the icepack on his forehead and holds it in place. He's rewarded by a brief twitch from Darren.

“Darren?” he calls out tentatively. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Darren's eyebrows furrow and he makes a soft noise.

“Hey kiddo, open your eyes,” Rhonda says more loudly, tapping his hand.

Darren whimpers and turns his head towards Chris slightly, though his eyes remained closed.

“There you go,” Chris encourages, carding his fingers through Darren's hair. “C'mon, look at me.”

After a brief pause, Darren's eyes flutter open. He blinks slowly and draws a shaky breath as his eyes finally focus on Chris. “Hi,” Chris breathes, heart thumping with adrenaline and relief.

“Whoa,” Darren utters, quietly enough that Chris has to lean forward to hear him. He stares up at Chris in shock. “Did I...?”

“Yeah, you passed out for a second,” Chris acknowledges. “How are you feeling?”

“Weird,” Darren manages in a husky voice.

“Weird how?” Rhonda prompts.

“Don't know... just weird,” is Darren's frustratingly vague reply.

“Do you have any medical conditions I need to be aware of? Diabetes, asthma, a heart condition, anything like that?”

Darren shakes his head. “No, nothing like that.” He shivers slightly and raises a shaking hand to touch the ice pack on his forehead, his fingers brushing against Chris' hand.

“Are you cold?” Chris asks him.

Darren nods slowly, still looking a bit confused.

“Should I take it off?” Chris wonders, looking from Darren to Rhonda.

“No, let's leave it there for another few minutes,” she warns. “I don't want him to pass out again.”

“Of course,” Chris concedes immediately, because that's the last thing he wants either.

“Did you have breakfast before you came here this morning, hon? When's the last time you ate?” she presses.

“Uh, I haven't eaten anything yet today. I was too nervous to eat,” Darren admits sheepishly.

Chris glares at him with a scolding look. “That was dumb,” he chastises gently.

“In retrospect, yes, it would seem so,” Darren snorts. “My bad.” He reaches out blindly and is successful in grabbing the sleeve of Chris' hoodie. He uses his grip to tug Chris' hand towards him, threading their fingers together once more.

“Well, at least we know what the problem is now. Just need to get some sugar in your bloodstream, and then I'll be willing to bet you'll feel a lot better,” Rhonda smiles at him.

“Do you want me to get him something?” Chris offers, gesturing with his free hand towards the snack table.

“No, that's okay. You stay there, I can do it,” she replies, glancing at their intertwined hands.

“Are you sure you're alright?” Chris frets, tracing patterns into Darren's skin with his thumb

“Mhmm,” Darren exhales. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

Chris opens his mouth to protest that he  _wasn't_  scared, even though he knows it's a lie. But something about the vulnerable, yearning look in Darren's eyes makes him stop himself before he can deny it. “It's fine,” he winds up saying instead, punctuating his affirmation by squeezing Darren's hand. “I'm just glad you're okay now.”

“Me too. I'm also glad you were here, because man, talk about going above and beyond the call of duty for someone you barely know,” Darren smiles, obviously impressed. “You should get some serious brownie points for this.”

“Hey, I wouldn't have accepted a date invitation from someone I barely knew,” Chris shoots back, mouth quirking up into a grin.

“So, it  _is_  a date,” Darren crows triumphantly.

“Uh, I assumed as much? Why, was that presumptuous of me?”

“Of course not,” Darren rushes to reassure him. “I definitely wanted it to be a date. I just wasn't sure if you were only being nice to me because I was so pathetic you took pity on me or something”

“It could still be a pity date,” Chris goads.

“Touché,” Darren chuckles. Hey, I'll take it, even if it is just a pity date. Clearly, I'm in no position to judge, given that I hadn't even worked up the courage to ask you if you were gay yet.”

“But somehow you managed to ask me to hold your hand?” Chris points out, bemused.

“Sheer desperation. It's a hell of a motivator,” Darren shrugs.

Chris adjusts his grip on the ice pack. “Are you getting brain freeze yet? Because my fingers are starting to go numb.”

“Kinda,” Darren admits. “It's definitely cold.”

“You can go ahead and take it off if you want,” Rhonda informs them as she sits a bottle of orange juice with a straw and two cookies on the armrest of the recliner in front of Darren.

“Great,” Chris rejoices. He pulls the ice pack from Darren's forehead and tosses it to the chair behind him. He brushes the damp curls from Darren's temple with his fingers, smiling when Darren's eyes flutter shut for a brief second at the sensation.

“Feeling better now?” he asks as Darren blinks up at him, smiling softly.

“Much.”

“Good. Now drink your juice,” he demands.

“So bossy,” Darren huffs with mock exasperation.

“Well, I figured you should probably know what you're getting yourself into from the start.” Chris' eyes sparkle with mirth.

“Ah yes, truth in advertising is such an unappreciated quality in the dating market. Thankfully, there are brave souls like you who are willing to go against the grain,” Darren mumbles around a mouthful of cookie.

“Yep, that's me – ever the innovator.” Chris turns to look longingly at the half-eaten cookie and Diet Coke he abandoned on the chair behind him. “Mind if I take my hand back for a few minutes? Otherwise, we're going to be in this blood donation van all day.”

Darren swallows a sip of orange juice and nods. “I guess so,” he pretends to grumble as he releases Chris' hand.

Chris takes a seat in the chair next to Darren and pops the tab on the can of soda. He downs half the can in a few gulps and then picks up his cookie. They spend the next few minutes in comfortable silence as they both consume their drinks and snacks.

Chris glances over at Darren once he finishes the last bite of his cookie. “Geez, that was fast,” he says with wide eyes, as he surveys the napkin on Darren's lap that is now empty aside from a few stray cookie crumbs.

“Sorry, I was hungry,” Darren apologizes. “We can't all be dainty eaters that take an hour to finish one cookie like you.”

“Hey now,” Chris pouts, “I'll have you know that I was a little busy, what with making sure you didn't die and all.”

“How generous of you,” Darren smirks.

“I thought so too,” Chris gamely plays along.

“Since we're done eating, does that mean we can leave now?” Darren inquires. “Not that I haven't enjoyed our time together, Rhonda,” he adds with mischievous smile.

“Let's take it one step at a time,” she directs, walking over and lowering the leg rest on the recliner and sitting Darren's chair upright. “Okay so far?” she checks.

“Yup.”

“Alright then, you can scoot forward and put your feet on the ground. Just don't stand up yet,” she continues. Again, Darren follows her directions.

Chris stands, dusting the leftover cookie crumbs from his sweatshirt before he swings his backpack onto one shoulder. He hovers next to Darren, ready to spring into action in case him moving goes as poorly as it did last time.

“Guys, I'm fine,” Darren maintains, looking at each of their faintly concerned faces in turn. “I'm not lightheaded or dizzy in the slightest, I swear.”

“You finally have some color back in your cheeks,” Chris notes, studying Darren's face.

“Exactly,” Darren gestures towards Chris victoriously. “So, can I stand up now?”

“I guess so,” Rhonda finally acquiesces. “But  _slowly_.”

“Here,” Chris offers his hand and helps pull Darren to his feet. He keeps hold of his hand once they are both standing and wraps his other arm around Darren's waist protectively. “Still good?” he checks one last time.

“A-okay,” Darren hums. “Ready to leave?”

“Very.”

“Don't forget your bag,” Rhonda reminds him, picking up Darren's messenger bag and sliding it over his shoulder.

“Thank you kindly,” Darren sing-songs as he curtsies, causing Chris to giggle.

“Do we need some sort of paper to prove we donated blood?” it occurs to Darren to ask as they open the door to the van and step outside.

“No, there's a master list that gets emailed out to all the teachers. That's why they made us fill out that form with our name, email, and student ID number on it,” Chris explains patiently.

“Good deal. Although after today's ordeal, fifteen points doesn't seem like  _nearly_  enough. I think fainting should earn me double points, don't you?”

“Better not push your luck,” Chris scolds. “It could be much worse. All I'm getting is a measly dropped assignment grade, after all,”

“Poor thing,” Darren tuts sympathetically.

“I'll probably live,” Chris says with a dramatic sigh.

“It's gorgeous out,” Darren comments idly as he luxuriates in the crisp autumn air and abundant sunshine, swinging their intertwined hands between them as they walk through the quad.

“It really is. It's nice living somewhere with four seasons for a change,” Chris agrees. “So, Darren...”

“So, Chris...” Darren echoes, mimicking his intonation.

“Am I safe in assuming today's experience has put you off blood donation forever?” he inquires.

“Of course not.”

“Wait, really?” Chris gives him a skeptical look.

“I mean, I'll be in no rush to do it again unless it's the only way to keep from failing another class, but it wasn't  _all_  bad,” Darren admits.

“Oh yeah?” Chris grins, looking at him.

“Fainting isn't part of my typical repertoire of tactics for wooing guys, but I really can't complain about the results,” Darren winks.

“Seems like a lot of effort for a date,” Chris teases.

“Maybe for just any old date it would be. But for a date with you? Nah, totally worth it.”

Chris has to duck his head to hide his blush. “Are you always this cheesy or is that just the blood loss talking?”

“Oh, I'm usually  _much_  worse. Consider yourself warned,” Darren murmurs. He stops suddenly and turns to face Chris, taking two steps forward until he's close enough that their noses are almost touching.

Chris inhales sharply, waiting breathlessly while Darren closes the remaining space between them, agonizingly slow.

“Truth in advertising, right?” Darren whispers just as their lips brush.

Chris decides kissing Darren can take priority over replying. He's always been charitable that way.


End file.
